


Kiss and Tell

by wordsbymeganmichael



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 10:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsbymeganmichael/pseuds/wordsbymeganmichael
Summary: Emma Swan and her friends are out celebrating her thirty-fifth birthday when they overhear a conversation by a group of Naval officers nearby. When the two groups come together, Killian's whole world is turned upside-down.





	Kiss and Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingerchangeling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerchangeling/gifts).



> This story was prompted with a conversation about Ted Cruz's comment pertaining to "knowing how to please a lady," but it got a mind of it's own and now, paired with at least a thousand billiard-related innuendoes, its become a 9.5k monster of its own. Oops.

Emma Swan is thirty-five. 

It’s a fact that she would have liked to forget, but one that her friends keep reminding her about, especially today: very pointed, specific birthday cards that all point out her age (except one from Ruby that says “Happy 80th birthday, Grandma!”); insisting on buying her the $35 bottle of wine in the restaurant — and insisting even further that  _ yes _ , they absolutely need to put all thirty-five candles on her birthday cake. 

All she wants to do is get drunk. 

So, when their bill at the restaurant is taken care of and Mary Margaret turns to Emma to ask her what she wants to do with the rest of her birthday night, the first thing that pops into Emma’s head is the new bar that has just opened by her apartment a few weeks before,  _ The Rabbit Hole.  _

“Let’s just go get a few drinks and hang out. We’re always  _ doing  _ something, for once I just want to spend time together.” 

They can at least give her that — it  _ is  _ her birthday. 

The bar is all of Emma’s favorite things, rolled up into one: dark, quiet, and filled with the aroma of fried foods, with one corner dedicated to televisions, all playing different sports on them, while the other side is quieter and more spread out, with smaller, high-top tables, a pool table, and two dart boards. 

Emma decides, to no surprise to her friends, on an Old Fashioned, a glass of coke, and a basket of onion rings, choosing a table from one of the quieter, darker corners of the room for them to sit at. 

By the time they get their drinks from the bartender and move to Emma’s chosen table, a group of men have taken over the pool table not far from them, their drinks set out on the table next to the one Emma and her friends sit down at. They keep well enough to themselves, but Emma keeps finding her eyes moving towards what seems to be the leader of the group, a dark-haired man wearing a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, half-unbuttoned to reveal a shock of dark hair smattered across his chest. 

“How’s work at the library going for you, Belle?” she hears Mary Margaret ask, and though she’s incredibly interested in the answer, her eyes are glued to the man in question as he lines up a shot in pool, the chain he wears over his button-down shirt falling onto the table as he finds the right angle before sending the cue ball down the table to knock one of his own balls into the pocket. 

“... really starting to get the hang of it,” Belle says, smiling in Emma’s direction, which just makes Emma feel worse about missing the beginning of her statement. “I really — I can’t thank you ladies enough for everything you’ve done to help me since everything that happened with Bobby, helping me get out of there and find an apartment, and a real job that I’m really starting to love.” 

This causes all four of the girls to smile, though Mary Margaret is the only one of them in a position to hug Belle. 

Ruby, Emma, and Mary Margaret met as roommates at Boston College, Mary Margaret getting her first taste of city life away from the small town she was raised in, Ruby always wishing for a bigger city, and Emma too scared to leave the only place she had every learned to love after a long, hard childhood. After graduation, they all moved into an apartment in the city together, with Mary Margaret moving out after a few years and moving in with her then-boyfriend David, who she has since married and named her oldest son after. Emma’s found a job working with students in the foster care system, helping them get into college and back on their feet when they age out of the system. And Ruby has hopped around jobs, never quite finding something she enjoys doing before moving on to the next one, though she’s currently working at the public library, which is where she found Belle one day, trying to hide her black eye behind a stack of fairy tale novels. Ruby brought her back to the apartment that night like a lost puppy, where she told Ruby and Emma about her husband, Bobby, a mean man who uses what little time he spends at home to berate her, recently becoming physically violent. 

So, of course, Belle hasn’t seen him in the month since then, moving her things out of their house one day when she knew he wouldn’t be there and taking over the spare bedroom of Emma and Ruby’s apartment. 

Emma’s not sure what brought her to suddenly pick up on the conversation happening around the pool table in the silence that has taken over their group, but she hopes that she’s not the only person that heard the comment that the dark-haired man makes, lining up another shot. 

“I can assure you all that I know quite well how to please a lady, thank you very much,” he says, sending the cue ball down the table and hitting what he was aiming at perfectly into the pocket. Before he straightens his back, though, he meets Emma's eye across the room and the corner of his mouth turns up into the beginnings of a smile as he winks at her. For just a moment, she wonders what his full smile would look like, but pulls her eyes away from him and back to Belle before her mind wandered anywhere she would not be able to get it back from.  “Though I'm not entirely certain how this pertains to the knowledge I've obtained during my time in the Navy.” 

Another of the men, who looks to be the youngest of the crew, lets out a loud laugh, trying to cover it with the back of his hand. 

“I'd let him prove that to me,” Ruby mutters in Emma's ear, and Emma just rolls her eyes. She knows that, if she were to turn towards her best friend, all she would find is a devilish grin and a knowing twinkle in her brown eyes that appears every time she makes a sex joke — which is often, especially for a thirty-three year old woman. 

Because, for what must be a first, she agrees with Ruby. If he wanted to prove his finesse in his ability to pleasure her, she wouldn't turn him down, with his dark hair and body toned enough she can see it through his half-unbuttoned dress shirt. She thought this  _ before  _ he met her gaze and winked at her with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. 

But she would never do anything about it. 

“How's work, M?” she asks Mary Margaret, though she already knows the answer. If anyone was made specifically to teach kindergarten, it would be Mary Margaret, the only person Emma had ever known to love her job to the point Mary Margaret does. For fifteen years she has taught kindergarten and Emma can think of all the times she has come home to complain about it on one hand — and most of these times were because of administration and not her students. So, while Mary Margaret tells them all of the newest adventures of her classroom Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal or Harold the Hamster, Emma lets her attention float back towards the conversation happening at the pool table. 

“The Navy may have taught you many things, Killian Jones, but I highly doubt that any of your experience with ladies came from that.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him line up another shot, but this time, his back is to her, but the view she’s given at this angle certainly isn’t one to complain about. “Well, Locksley, the Navy didn't tell me how to play billiards, either, but yet here I am, completely kicking your ass.” 

Emma bites her cheek to keep from laughing, especially since she's not even supposed to be listening to this conversation. Her friend is telling them about her week, she should surely be listening to that, right? 

“Why don't you prove it?” the man sitting by himself at the table beside them calls out, startling Mary Margaret just as much as Emma. He's the first of them to speak without an accent. 

“And how do you suppose I do that, Jeff?” The main one asks.  _ Killian _ , Emma repeats in her head, and for some reason, it seems to fit the man it belongs to, with his dark hair and bright blue eyes. 

“There are plenty of ladies here,” the youngest of them comments, sweeping his hand in front of him to gesture to the whole bar as he leans back against the table  _ Jeff  _ is seated at. “Take your pick, use the ol’ Jones charm on her and take her home, and then we'll ask her later about how you were in the sack.” 

She doesn't realize that she has turned back to him to hear his response until his bright blue eyes meet hers again, and she is useless against the blush that rises to her cheeks. 

“You don’t have to look far, sailor,” Ruby calls from next to her, and Emma can’t hide how much it startled her, her hand flying to her chest, and every eye in the room snaps to Ruby, both at their table and beyond. 

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret yells, reaching across the table to rest her hand on Ruby’s arm. “That’s more than enough tequila for tonight, I think,” she tries, but Ruby shakes out of her grasp and finishes the rest of her drink just for spite. 

“Excuse me?” the older one speaks up, trying and failing to hide the smile spreading across his face. 

But Ruby doesn’t answer right away, taking her sweet time to look around the rest of the bar, leading the rest of the group to do the same thing before she finally says, “There aren’t very many prospects here, especially since it’s a Friday night. And that leaves me and my friends.”

The men all share looks, ending with all of them looking at Killian, who shrugs as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. He turns his eyes back up to the table, finding Emma’s as the corner of his mouth ticks up in the shadow of a smile. 

A smile that Emma can’t help herself but return, heat returning to her cheeks so she turns away from his ice blue gaze and back to Ruby. “Why the hell do we still let you drink tequila?” 

Belle leans back, turning herself in her seat so her back is against the wall, one arm over the back of her chair. “Remember a few months ago when that place by the apartment had $2 tequila shots for Cinco de Mayo and she bought, like, fifty of them and then passed out in the kitchen?” 

“Or when she made margaritas for ladies night and drank all of them herself and was dancing on the countertop when she slipped and broke her arm?” Emma adds. 

“Perhaps you should seriously consider making her stop drinking tequila,” the American one comments. 

“They can’t  _ make  _ me do anything,” Ruby bites back, trying to finish her drink for the second time, but it’s already empty. 

He very obviously checks her out, head to toe and back again, and when his eyes find hers once more, she winks, a smile spreading across her face. 

“No, I can imagine not,” he says, his voice low, and Emma can't stop the eye roll that happens, knowing that Ruby has found her prospect for the night. “So then there's nothing stopping me from buying you another?” 

“ _ Damn _ , Jeff,” the youngest comments. “There's no subtlety with you, is there, mate?” 

The man in question just shrugs, but Ruby pushes herself off the stool and fills the space between them. “I like a man that knows what he wants.” 

“Well, for the time being, all this man  _ wants  _ is to buy you another drink and see where the night goes.” 

The rest of the group is silent as they turn to walk off, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, unsure of how to even comment. Once they've made it to the bar and are out of earshot, though, the youngest of them whistles while Killian leans down to take another shot, filling the silence with the clack of one ball against the next. 

“I want to apologize on behalf of the actions of Jefferson Hatter, ladies,” the other older one says, turning to lean his back against the pool table and face them. “There are very few men in the world more awkward than he is.” 

“Ruby seemed to find him charming, at least,” Mary Margaret comments with a smile. 

“Oi, Rob, it's your turn,” Killian calls, though he steps around the table to mirror Robin's position. “And that is something I may never understand. He's terribly awkward, never learned the art of subtlety, and yet can leave the pub every night with a different lady on his arm.” 

“Are you jealous, Jones?” the youngest of them asks, and Robin claps him on the shoulder as he steps past him to take his turn. 

“And let me apologize in advance for this git, who I can assure you will just get worse as the night goes on.” 

“Hey!” he calls out, reaching out to hit Robin on the shoulder as he lines up his shot, causing the man to turn an icy glare in his direction. “I can't be as bad as him,” he comments, turning to find Jefferson and Ruby in the small crowd around the bar and, face-to-face with one of Jefferson's hands dangerously low on Ruby's lower back and the other leaning against the bar, with one of Ruby's toying with the hem of his shirt and the other pressed flat against his chest. 

“At least women find him charming, Scarlett,” Killian teases, flashing him a smile that he does not return. 

“You mean women don't find you charming?” Belle asks, and both Emma and Mary Margaret turn to her, mouths agape. In the few months since they've met, she hasn't so much as commented on the attractiveness of another man, nonetheless opted to flirt with one. 

Apparently tonight is a night just full of surprises. 

“Hear that, Rob?” he asks, smiling as the apples of his cheeks turn redder than they already are. “She finds me charming.” 

“Technically, mate, she never said that,” Killian comments, and Emma watches as his eyes follow the cue ball down the table and miss their mark by a hair. 

“Why'd'ya have to be such a wanker, Jones?” he asks, pulling himself up into one of the chairs at the table beside Belle and Mary Margaret. 

“Part of the job, I guess,” he replies, setting up his own shot. “You know, you could always ask her.” 

“That's just bloody embarrassing, that is,” Will says as Killian makes the shot, all eyes on him and he rounds the table to take the next. 

“Only if you let yourself be embarrassed by it,” he comments, his eyes following the cue down the table but not stopping on the ball as they rise to find Emma's. “There's nothing embarrassing in asking a woman if she's intrigued by you, unless she says no and you still continue to make a complete mockery of yourself because of it.” He takes the shot, sinking the last striped ball on the table. “Isn't that right, love?” he asks Emma, coming back to the front of the table to stand in front of them. “If I were to ask you if you were interested in me buying you another drink before we tried our hands at billiards and you said no, I would have two options: the high road, where I accept your answer and move on with my evening, and the low road, where I become so insistent that you're going to change your mind that you just begin to hate me.” 

“And what if she says yes?” Emma asks, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can do anything to stop them. She  _ almost  _ raises her hand to cover her mouth, embarrassed by her weakened filter, but the expression of complete astoundment that spreads across both Killian's and Robin's faces makes it somehow worth it. 

“Come again?” Killian asks, and Robin does nothing to keep his mouth from falling open. 

“What if you ask her if she wants another drink and to play a game of pool with you, and the answer is yes?” 

Robin blinks a few times, still trying to decipher exactly what is happening before his eyes  _ again _ and Killian turns away from Emma and towards the pool table, trying to figure out the best angle to take his winning shot from before deciding on one. 

“Well,” he says, reaching to grab one of the glasses from their table and finishing what remains of it with one gulp before turning back to the table. Within moments, the cue ball is slowly making its way down the table to gently knock the eight ball into the pocket before he turns back to Emma, his wide smile still spread across his face. “Then you kick your oldest mate's ass so you can give the lady what she wants.” 

“Hey, excuse me, I still have a chance —” Robin tries, turning back to the table, but after taking a moment to take in everything in front of him, he hangs his head in defeat. “Alright, fine, you win again.” 

Killian smiles, a brilliant thing that Emma swears actually makes the room brighter, and it widens somehow when he turns to her, setting his cue down on the table before making his way over to their table. 

“Now, love, if you'd let me start by buying you a drink?” he asks, offering his arm to her, and she steps down from the stool and takes it, threading her arm through his. 

He orders her Old Fashioned, plus one for himself, and then turns to face her, surprised to see that she has filled almost all the space that was between them even though the bar crowd is almost non-existent. He could easily wrap his arms around her if he wanted — no, if he gives in to that want, because he finds himself _wanting_ to do just that, but he keeps his hands on his hips. He takes a moment to study her face from this proximity, closer than he would allow himself to get with his friends watching, and though he smiles down at her, she pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, worrying it. 

“I never took the opportunity to introduce myself,” he says, hoping to pull her out of whatever rabbit hole her brain was taking her down, and when she smiles up at him, he's relieved to see that it worked. “Killian Jones, formerly Captain but newly retired.” 

Her eyes go wide in disbelief. 

“You don't look old enough to be retired.” 

“I appreciate the compliment, love, but thankfully the navy has a different schedule than the real world, so after my twenty years were up, they finally decided to give me the opportunity for a normal life for the first time since I was seventeen.” 

“You're thirty-seven and retired?” she asks, absolutely amazed. “Damn, I haven't even decided what I want to do with my life yet.” 

“Thirty-nine,  _ technically _ ,” he corrects, his dark eyebrows high on his forehead. “They made me wait a year to after training to actually start because of age requirements, then I took a year's leave of absence after my seventh year in when my mother passed.” 

“Shit, I'm sorry, Killian,” she mumbles, reaching up to rest one of her arms on his shoulder as she curses herself for having him bring up his sad backstory this soon in their acquaintance. 

“'s alright. I've come to terms with it by this point, though it took me most of that year and my brother almost beating my sorry ass to get back into shape.” 

She smiles at him, something deeper and more meaningful than the others she has shared with him so far this evening, and he decides to take the chance and reach out to set his hand on her hip. Completely still, he pauses, waiting for her to give some sort of response, but it does not seem to phase her; instead, her eyes are focused on her hand resting on his shoulder, her tongue running slowly over her bottom lip. 

“Sorry, I just brought down the whole mood —” he starts, but she opens her mouth at the same time, and he snaps his shut to let her speak. 

“I have a proposition for you.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her, the smile that disappeared with his worry slowly returning. “I'm listening.” 

“Obviously I heard what you and your friends were discussing not long after we got here.” 

With this, his smile disappears again, replaced this time with a confused furrow of his brow. 

“If you beat me at pool, you can have the chance to prove to me tonight that you have the… abilities that your friends were questioning.” 

He begins to redden, starting with the tips of his ears but it slowly takes over the rest of his face. 

“And if you win?” 

“Then you have to take me out to dinner first.” 

He takes a moment to make sure that she is saying exactly what he thinks she is, and when he meets her eyes again, the green of them are bright with mischief. “You know that neither of us really lose in either of these scenarios, right?” 

“Well, I mean, beyond one of us losing a game of pool, unless your ability to please a woman is less than adequate.” 

The bartender sets their drinks down in front of them, and Killian thanks him before leaning closer to her, his lips practically grazing her ear. “You'll be content to know, love, there is nothing  _ less than adequate  _ about me,” he growls, his voice somehow an octave lower than it has been, and he turns away from her quick enough to miss her widened eyes, though he does not fail to notice the hitch in her breath first. 

When they get back to the little corner that they have taken over, they find that everyone has shuffled around, with Belle and Will sitting next to each other at one table, engaged in close conversation lively enough to spread a smile across Belle's face, while Mary Margaret and Robin sit across from each other at the other, scrolling through their camera rolls to share as many pictures of their children as they can find with the other. 

“I guess this is going splendidly,” Killian comments, taking a sip of his drink before setting it on the opposite side of the table from Belle and Will and turning his attention towards the pool table to set up for their game. 

“Well, hopefully this means they won’t be watching our game as closely as we all watched the last, I get nervous when people are watching me,” Emma comments, and Killian turns to her just in time to watch her eyes grow wide, realizing what she just said. 

But Killian just smiles, pulling the triangle off from around the newly-set balls before leaning into her space and whispering, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, love,” he mumbles, then leans away from her but holds the cue stick out for her to take. “Your break.”

Emma nods, gulps, and takes the pool cue from his outstretched hand, hoping that her cheeks aren’t turning as red as they feel. Her plan is to spend some time  — the end of her birthday — flirting with this incredibly attractive man in hopes that he wants the same thing from this evening that she does: to scratch an itch, have one hell of a good time to celebrate her birthday and leave him behind, no strings attached. 

But her proposition to him is the  _ opposite  _ of no strings attached. Asking him to buy her dinner? Those are  _ strings _ , she realizes just a little too late. And at the same time, as she sends the cue ball down the table to break, ending with two low balls in the two corner pockets, she realizes what that means: she  _ wants  _ him to win, because then, all he has to be is a quick fuck. 

And sinking two balls on the break is not the way to let someone else win.

That is what she wants... right?

None of that means she can’t have a little fun tonight, though. 

Straightening her back, she looks over the table at Killian, who looks like he’s trying his hardest to hide his surprise at her shot, his jaw visibly clenching and unclenching. 

“Nervous yet?” 

“It's not about how you start, love, it's about how you finish.” 

Though she tries to keep it inside, Emma is useless against the laugh that rises up her throat, and as she leans down to line up her next shot, she's relieved to hear him start laughing, as well. She misses the next shot, though just barely — and doesn't want to think about whether she did it on purpose or not. 

“That was one of the lamest things I have ever heard, do you know that?” she comments as he steps around the table to stand beside where she is leaning against it, lining up his shot. 

“Just wait until I really get started,” he whispers in her ear before bending over the table, and her eyes go wide.  _ That's  _ the kind of game they're going to play then, huh? 

She can play that game, too. Damn, can she ever. 

He misses his shot, cursing under his breath as he hands back the cue, and her bright eyes find his. 

“Are you sure you know what you're doing? Or are you going to need some help getting it in?” 

She keeps her voice as calm as possible, only allowing herself to laugh at her own joke once she has turned away from him to move towards the opposite side of the table. 

He is still silent by the time she makes it to her spot, and she may bend over a _little_ more than necessary to show off what her shirt fails to hide at that angle. She laughs to herself again when he does nothing to hide the fact that he is taking the bait, staring exactly where she knew he would. She sinks her shot, smiling at his as he finally raises his eyes to her face, and moves to the head of the table, where she needs to take her next shot. 

“The trick,” she says, aiming once more, “is to line it up perfectly so all you need to do is slide it right in.” Thankfully, the shot actually sinks, though she wasn't sure if it would with the angle she was working at. She could only imagine how red her face would become if she were to make a joke like that, and then completely miss the shot. 

Taking in what's left on the table — three of hers, six of his — she realizes that he is standing exactly where she needs to be. 

And when she looks up at him, making her way around the table, she knows he realizes it, too. He moves as little as he can get away with, his hip pressed into hers as she leans down over the table, and she takes her shot, missing entirely once he pivots to press his body against hers. 

“I had to make you think you were winning first, love,” he whispers, his hands on her hips as she stands back up, and the hardness of him through his jeans is obvious when she moves against him. “Besides, you can't be allowed to act like that without any repercussions.” 

She takes half a step back, pushing them away from the side of the table just enough to turn around and face him, though she leans back against the table once she does so. 

“You're a bloody siren, do you know that?” he asks, moving forward to trap her between his body and the pool table. 

But when she smiles at him, knowing exactly the effect she is having on him, he knows that he is useless against her. 

“Just take your damned shot, Jones,” she says, and with the way she leans towards him, he thinks she is going to kiss him, but she just pushes him away from her. 

“Are you in a hurry or something?” he asks, but is already moving to line up his shot. 

“In a hurry to kick your ass,” she returns as his ball sinks into the pocket. 

He has no comment on this, and the game is silent as he makes three more shots in a row, now just two balls left on the table. But he is immensely aware of her eyes on him with every movement, watching him carefully as he lines up and executes every shot. It is only after he sinks the eleven ball, leaving just the fifteen before the eight, that he allows himself to look up at her, leaning up against the side of the table just around the corner from where he is lining his shot up from. When he meets her eyes, they narrow, not angrily, but as though she is searching him for some sort of answer. 

“What?” he asks finally, leaning down over the table to try to line up his shot, but he turns his head to glance at her for a moment before turning back to the cue. “See something you like, love?” 

He hears her laugh quietly as he shoots, and when he turns to face her again, she slowly wets her bottom lip, leaning forward with her hands on the table to get closer to him. “Maybe I’m just impressed with the way you use that stick.” 

He steps around the corner of the table and she turns to face him, watching as he walks past her, but before he does, he leans close to her ear and whispers, “Wait until you see what I can do with the other one.” 

Her eyes go wide once more, but she is unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face with his joke, because that is  _ exactly  _ what she wants, and he knows it. With his own smile still on his face, he makes the shot with the fifteen, barely needing to move to shoot the eight, which he misses by a hair and lands it right on the edge of the corner pocket. 

Cursing himself, he hands the cue stick over to her with a wink. “I had to give you the chance to beat me, to make sure you’re still set on our agreement.” 

As she takes the cue from his hand, he can swear that he sees her eyes sparkle with mischief, and he is so focused on trying to decipher why that he stops paying attention to the table, watching her closely as she leans to take her shot — but not where she is shooting. 

“Tap it just right,” he hears her whisper, watching as she maneuvers the cue in her hand to tap against the ball on the table, sending it carefully down the table and— 

_ Holy shit.  _

And sinking the eight ball herself. 

And throwing the whole game. 

And… 

And  _ letting him win.  _

Slowly — so slow that he knows she is doing it on purpose — she sets the cue stick down on the table, running her index finger up the intricately carved handle, then turning around to face him, her bottom lip pulled up between her teeth. 

“Oops,” she says coyly, shrugging her shoulders the same way as the beginnings of a smile appear on the corners of her lips, but before it even has the chance to grow into anything bigger, he is pulling her against him and crashing his lips into hers, quickly and hungrily begging for more. 

And she lets him. 

Oh,  _ boy  _ does she let him. 

His lips are soft against hers, his tongue warm and tasting, thankfully, more like the rum he’d been drinking for most of the night and not whiskey. When she nips at his bottom lip, he groans into her mouth and tightens his hands on her hips, pushing her into the side of the pool table. 

Which is when Robin and Mary Margaret notice what is happening next to them. 

“Emma!” she scolds, at the same time Robin yells, “Jesus, Jones!” and as they break apart (though his hips are still grinding her into the pool table), Will’s obnoxious laugh becomes the only thing Killian can focus on. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Killian whispers, his lips pressed against her cheek, and she nods vigorously, waving to Mary Margaret and Belle as Killian grabs her hand and pulls her out of the room. 

“Don’t forget to come back and tell us how he is!” Will yells, and Killian smiles knowing the way Robin smacked him across the back of the head, his “Ow!” coming just moments later. 

“My apartment is only a few blocks from here,” she offers as he holds open the door for her, but his hand resting against the small of her back leads her in the opposite direction. 

“I’ll do you one better: I live right down the block, that’s part of the reason my mates and I are regulars in this joint.” 

Emma nods, wrapping her own arm around his back as she leans into his side, the October air just a bit chilly to be in without the jacket she left inside. 

The air between them is thick with tension, but not awkwardness, and she laughs out loud when he slides his hand down from her back to her ass, squeezing it. 

“Sorry,” he says with a laugh of his own, though he makes no motion to move it back. “I’ve — I’m going to be honest with you, I’ve wanted to do that all night, but especially since I watched you break.” 

“There’s no need to apologize,” she replies, moving her own hand down to slide it into his back pocket. “You don’t have such bad form yourself.” Pulling them over to the side of the sidewalk, she stops them, resting her hands on his chest. “I do have a confession to make, though,” she says, watching her thumbs play with the edges of his shirt where it is unbuttoned. 

“Do spill.”

“I’ve been incredibly intrigued with this,” she says, pulling one edge of the shirt over so she can run her nails down his exposed chest. 

“Don’t even get me started on yours,” he replies, and she watches his eyes lower towards them for a moment. “Though I’m sure the sneak peeks you’ve been giving me all night are nothing compared to the full show.” 

“Why don’t you just let me show you?” 

He leans his head back against the cool brick, shaking it in response to the devilish smile that has spread across her face. “You really are a siren, aren’t you? Sent here just to be the death of me?”

“As long as you follow through with what you promised, then maybe I’ll think about not killing you.” 

Still shaking his head at her jokes —  _ how in the world can this woman even be real?  _ — he gently pushes her away from him, though only because he needs to fish his keys out of his pants pocket to open the door that she has stopped them next to — and thankfully, too, since he’s not sure he would be able to hold himself back from her any longer. Sliding the key into the lock, he opens the door for her, then gestures for her to go first. 

“Apologies for all the steps, love, but my room is all the way at the top, and I would really enjoy the opportunity to watch you climb two flights of steps from this angle.” As she begins her ascent, he turns back to quickly lock the door behind him, then pauses to appreciate the view before him before following in her footsteps. 

She slows down on the first landing, which opens into the living room and the kitchen, with two bedrooms tucked in behind them, and takes a quick look around before continuing up the stairs. “Jesus, Killian, how do you afford this place?” 

“The three of us all have pretty solid Navy careers, so a place like this was honestly pretty easy to get within our budget. Plus the landlord is a vet, so he gave us a discount.” 

“And you can be sure that your roommates won’t be bothering us?” 

“They both seemed pretty content when we left them at the bar, so I would hope not,” he jokes. “Besides, the top floor is all mine, they never come up here anyway.” 

If she wasn’t so distracted by the way he presses her up against the door as soon as he closes it, she would have taken more time to appreciate just how luxurious his loft bedroom really is, with a wall separating it from the stairs, but a glass panel with a railing over it looking out over the rest of the apartment, and his own bathroom tucked into the corner. 

For a moment, the thing she wants the most is for him to find her lips with his again, the same way he did in the bar, warm and soft and passionate — but when he presses them against her neck instead, causing her to rest her head back against the closed door, she realizes that his lips can set any part of her body ablaze. Needing something to do before he drove her insane, she reaches for the buttons on his shirt, undoing the ones that are left before pushing it out of her way and running her hands over the dark hair that covers it. Finally, his lips move up her neck, along her jaw, and find hers, soft and chaste against them for just a moment, until she runs her tongue along his bottom lip and allows her to deepen the kiss, the tips of his fingers pressing into the skin above the top of her jeans. 

He pulls away from her for a moment, his thumb resting under her chin and their foreheads still pressed together. 

“Tell me what you want from me, Emma,” he whispers, much more sincere than should be allowed for a moment like this. 

She smiles, leaning forward to press her lips against his with a soft kiss. “You’re the one that needs to prove his abilities,” she jokes, running her fingernails down his chest, and she locks the memory of how that makes his eyes flutter shut in a box somewhere. “You’re in complete control.” 

This answer must satisfy him, because in the dimmed lights of the room, she can see his eyes darken, as if he has suddenly realized that they’re actually going to do this. 

“Whatever you say, darling,” he says, staring at her for another moment before bending down to pick her up, one arm around her back and the other under her legs, and she wraps her arms around his neck. He sets her on the bed, shedding his unbuttoned shirt before climbing over her. “Though I hope you’re aware that I am in no hurry and do plan to satisfy you until you beg me to stop.” 

While every touch against her skin drew sparks, these words, spoken just before he started to press kisses all the way up her neck, ignite a fire in her stomach that travels down to rest between her legs, and she tries to squeeze them together in hopes of finding some friction, but what she finds instead is his hip. He feels this and lets out a low chuckle, his fingers sliding painfully slow up her stomach, pulling her shirt along with them. 

“Have I already started to affect you that much, Emma?” he growls, then slowly slides his tongue along her pulse point. “That you're already wet and waiting in anticipation for how I plan to make you feel?” His fingers ghost over the top of her bra, barely coming in contact with the material but still causing her skin to pebble. 

She can tell that he wants her to respond, that he wants to know just how much of an effect he is starting to have on her — but two can play at this game, and she keeps her mouth shut as he pulls her shirt up over her head. 

As he reaches around her back to unhook her bra, his darkening blue eyes filled with more concern than should be allowed in this situation, but her assistance in helping him pull it off of her seems to be enough of an answer. 

But when she watches his eyes darken further, somehow both brilliant and dark blue simultaneously, she can’t stop the smile that comes to her lips, though the soft chuckle that followed it is pushed back down her throat as he wraps his lips around one of her nipples, the other quickly covered with his hand, rough fingers playing with the sensitive flesh. He can tell that he is ramping her up, the shifting of her hips below his leg obvious as she searches for some sort of relief for the heat building between her legs, her fingers finding purchase in his hair with her other hand against his hip. 

He moves his lips to her other breast, one hand returning to where his mouth just was while the other trails down her side, moving down her hip and under the waistband of her jeans, just to where he begins to feel the soft hair between her legs against his fingers. When he hears the soft groan escape her lips, he finds them with his own, releasing his own groan into her mouth when she tightens her grip on his hair. He chuckles, nipping at her bottom lip as he shifts his hips to slide his hand further into her pants, his fingers sliding gently into the wetness that has gathered there before beginning to focus on her bundle of nerves, allowing her to search his mouth with her tongue. 

“Take off your jeans,” he commands, his voice almost as dark as his midnight-colored eyes when she pulls back to find his gaze before doing as he said  — and she is almost embarrassed to admit just how his darkened tone affects her, feeling another rush of warmth move through her chest and settle just behind where his fingers are still moving against her. She manages to do as he told her to, though her body’s response to his movements against her did not make it easy. By the time her jeans have reached the floor and she is laying bare beneath him, the ball of warmth at the base of her spine has started to grow, threatening to burst at any moment, and his fingers speed up their movements against her skin, his lips trailing back down her neck, her chest, her stomach, until — 

He pulls his fingers away, and the tension that had built through Emma’s body disappears all at once, causing her to fall slack back against the mattress. 

“Why the fuck —” she starts, but this is exactly what he wanted her to do, opening her legs wider for him, and before she can raise her eyes to find him, before she can even finish her sentence, his mouth has found where his fingers were moments ago, replacing the question on her lips with a soft yelp. “ _ Fuck _ ,” she says again, though in a very different tone than the last time. 

The feel of his lips against her, of his tongue as it swipes over her folds, of his teeth as he gently pulls her clit between them, is unlike anything she has ever felt, and by the time he slowly slides one finger, then a second, into her, mumbling, “I need to feel you come, love,” against her skin, she has almost reached ecstasy again — and this time, he lets her, everything turning brilliant white behind her closed eyes as her whole body fills with warmth. 

She comes violently against him, tightening around his pumping fingers as her body begins to shake, his lips still gently guiding her through her orgasm. 

“That’s it, darling,” he whispers, replacing his lips with the pad of his thumb as she continues to respond to him, his lips pressing soft kisses against the skin of her thighs, her hips, her stomach. 

She wants to beg him to stop, his words from earlier rattling around her head, but every inch of her body disagrees as her orgasm continues to move through her, unable to form the words between the sighs and moans that she is unable to stop. 

Thankfully, though, he begins to slow his movements, stopping the movements of his thumb but not moving it as his fingers, still sliding in and out of her, begin to slow until he removes them completely. He presses his cheek against the inside of her thigh, using her as a pillow as she returns to herself, whispering sweetness against her soft skin.

When she finally opens her eyes and finds his, he smiles up at her, crawling back up the bed to slide his lips against hers. Unlike every other kiss they’ve shared, this one is slow, soft, paired with Emma’s fingers feeling the contours of Killian’s face, his neck as he simply threads his through her hair, holding the back of her head. Once Emma’s gotten her fill, she pulls away from him, her fingers still brushing against his cheek, and when she smiles at him, her green eyes bright with laughter, Killian can swear that he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life. 

Which, of course, was not what he was supposed to get out of tonight. 

“You’ll be glad to know that I only have good things to tell your friends,” she jokes and he leans back towards her to press his lips against her cheek, her jaw, before finding her lips again. 

“I’m not even finished with you yet,” he whispers, and when he stares down at her, he watches her eyes widen, darken, fill with excitement. 

“You’re right,” she quips back, her hands moving towards the clasp of his jeans. “You still need to show me how you use that stick of yours.” 

Before he can even reposition himself between her legs, she’s pushed his jeans past his hips, and he does the rest, the bulge in his boxers much more prominent than when it was covered with denim. She ruts her hips up to meet his, the material of his boxers rough against her, and even as she slides her thumbs under his waistband, revealing the sharp juts of his hips to her, he places his hands on either side of her face, giving her no choice but to return his gaze. 

“As long as that’s still what you want,” he whispers, and for a moment, Emma is terrified by the softness in his eyes, amazed by all the different shades she’s seen them since he first winked at her over the pool table. 

She has no idea how to respond to his sincerity, so instead she slides one of her hands completely into the front of his boxers, her fingers curling around the hardened member she finds there, which pulls a low growl from the back of his throat as his eyes fall closed. When he opens them again, his sincerity is gone, replaced by the darkened shade of lust. He helps her pull himself free of the garment, pushing them down his legs and into the pile of shed clothing and blankets that have joined together at the foot of his bed. 

He is warm against her cold fingers, hard but covered with velvet-soft skin. As he lowers his face back down to meet hers, his lips a hair’s breadth away from hers but still not touching them, she runs her thumb up his length and across the tip, finding the moisture that has beaded there and softly spreading it with the pad of her thumb. 

“Christ,” he groans, resting his forehead against hers, and she threads the fingers of her other hand into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers, though only for a moment, before leaning his forehead against hers. “Let me find a condom,” he says, backing away from her enough to reach into the drawer beside his bed, pulling it from its sheath, but she takes it from his hand to slide it down his length herself. Adjusting her hand around him, she shifts her hips to welcome him, guiding his hardened cock to where she is waiting for him. “Emma,” he whispers, barely a breath, as he enters her, filling her inch by glorious inch until he can sink no more. 

He pulls back out, repeating the motion again, and this time, when he fills her, she is unable to stop the moan that escapes her lips. This sound makes him unable to control himself anymore, and, gripping her hips in his hands, he moves quicker within her, relishing in the feel of her around him, of her fingernails in the muscles of his shoulders where she is gripping him — of every perfect sigh and moan that comes from her perfect lips. Her sounds quickly become too much for him, so he silences her with his own mouth, sliding his hand between them to assist her in finding another orgasm. Paired with the feeling of him inside her, wide and deep and perfect, it only takes a few swipes of his thumb before she is falling apart around him again, curses leaving her lips straight into his own mouth. 

He wants to continue moving within her until she has been fully satisfied, to give her everything he can before collapsing beside her — but it turns out that this is not as much as he hoped it would be, and only lasts a few pumps of his hips longer before spilling himself inside her, causing her to cry out against his lips. 

“Gods, love, you’re incredible,” he whispers after the air between them has stilled, pressing his lips against anything he can reach — her neck, her shoulders, her jaw.  

She chuckles, her lips pressed against his hair. “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

He laughs with her for a moment, before reaching towards the box of tissues on the table next to his bed, handing her a few before carefully sliding out of her. 

“The, uh, bathroom is through the door there,” he says softly, gesturing towards the door as he begins searching for all of the clothing they’ve shed at the foot of the bed, tossing hers up beside where she is still laying, watching him as he moves around the room, redressing. 

He tries not to think too much about that. 

After a few moments, she gathers the pile he’s made for her and moves towards the bathroom. Once the door has closed behind her, though, he sits back down on the bed, holding his head in his hands. 

“Jesus, Jones,” he says to himself, then takes a deep breath. This was never the plan. It was supposed to be a game, a quick fuck with a beautiful woman he met in the bar. He was not supposed to want more from it, to find her both physically attractive and want more than that from her. 

He was not supposed to catch feelings for Emma Swan. 

 

When she comes out of the bathroom, the light from behind her lighting her up like a vision, he jumps to his feet, buttoning the last of the buttons on his shirt, and is unable to stop the question that’s rattled around her head for the minutes she spent putting herself back together:

“Can I — can I see you again?” 

A smile spreads across her lips, but it only stays for a moment, and she stops where she stands. “I mean, you still need to walk me back to the bar, so I’m hoping this isn’t the last time —“

“Emma,” he pleads, pushing himself off the bed and crossing the room to her. “That’s not… not what I meant. You know that, right?” 

This time, the smile stays on her face as she reaches out and wraps one of her arms around his neck, the other resting gently against his cheek. “I would like that, too,” she whispers, and he thinks that she is going to lean in to kiss him; instead, she watches the way his face lights up at her answer first, then leans in to gently find his. 

“Yeah?” he mumbles against her lips, and she can feel the way he smiles. 

“And if it ends like this again, you would have no complaints from me.” 

 

They walk back to the bar hand-in-hand, the air between them drastically different than it was on the way there. To fill the silence, he asks her what brought them to the Rabbit Hole this night, and when she tells him that they came out to celebrate her birthday, he wags his eyebrows, a smirk covering his face. Leaning in to tap her shoulder with his, she turns to him, and he winks at her. 

“If I’d have known that during our soiree, I would have celebrated.” 

“I thought what happened during out  _ soiree  _ was celebration enough,” she jokes, picking up his accent to poke fun at him. 

“I did have to pull out all the tricks. I had a reputation to live up to, you know?” 

When she laughs, he can swear that he feels a light ignite in his chest at the sound. Dramatic, he knows, but it seems to be the truth. 

“You know they’re going to ask you all sorts of embarrassing questions, right?” he asks, and when she laughs again, his entire life lights up. “What are you even going to tell them?” 

“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell,” she jokes, stopping them just outside the door back to the bar and turning towards him, resting her hands on his chest. In the brief moment before she leans in to press her lips against his, he stares down at her, her face lit by the lights under the awning. 

“Will really isn’t going to like that answer,” he whispers against her lips, smiling when she feels her do the same. 

Just as they both expected, Will jumps from his seat as soon as he sees them approaching from the bar, making the others in room turn their attention first towards him, and then towards Emma and Killian, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and hers around his waist, her hand slipped into his back pocket. 

“They’ve returned!” Will announces excitedly, as if he is the only one who notices. 

“Yes, Scarlett, thank you,” Killian comments, clapping him on the back as they pass him and move back towards the pool table. 

In the anticipatory silence that builds, Killian racks the pool balls as Emma focuses solely on the tip of her cue, chalking it much more than necessary but managing to avoid all the eyes that are on her. She breaks, the sound of the balls hitting each other the only sound in their corner of the bar, and once she leans to line up her next shot, Will decides he can stand no more silence. 

“Jesus, woman, are you going to give us what we want, or not?” 

Emma smiles, continuing to line up her shot, and she takes it before turning back to Will, a sly smile spread across her features. 

“Ask me again after round two.” 


End file.
